And you probably also know that when you look out of an aeroplane window and see the world shrink like that, you can't help but think about the whole of your life, from the beginning until where you are now, and everyone you've ever known. And you'll know that thinking about those things makes you feel grateful to God for providing them, and angry with Him for not helping you to understand them better, and so you end up in a terrible muddle and needing to talk to a priest. I decided I wouldn't sit in the window seat on the way back. I don't know how these jet-set people who have to fly once or twice a year cope, I really don't.
The narrator reflects on the profound experiences that arise when gazing out of an airplane window, observing how the vast world diminishes in size. This perspective triggers a deep contemplation of one's life journey, urging thoughts of past relationships and personal history. These reflections evoke mixed feelings of gratitude towards God for those experiences while simultaneously grappling with frustration over a lack of understanding of life's complexities.
This internal conflict leads the narrator to a sense of confusion that demands communication with a priest. Choosing not to sit by the window on the return trip, the narrator expresses bewilderment about how frequent flyers manage to handle such emotional turmoil. The passage captures the struggle between existential reflection and the desire for clarity amidst life's uncertainties.
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
Race of Cain, ascend to heaven, And cast God down upon the earth!
